


Aftermath

by Glitch1 (The_Glitches)



Series: Entangle [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Prime
Genre: After-interface injuries, Cranky Starscream, M/M, Possible concern on Megatron's side, Satisfied Megatron, limps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glitches/pseuds/Glitch1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short confrontation following the night after their rather volatile fornication, despite Starscream's intentions to avoid Megatron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

It was with a different kind of interest that he studied Starscream the following shift. Had anyone noticed, they might have mistaken his scrutiny for suspicion – a warranted and likely assumption given their ‘bumpy’ history. But this was an interest of curious evaluation. This was the interest of master over minion, witnessing the results of his rather _exemplary_ performance. 

Starscream’s reaction towards him had been hard to gauge. For the majority of the next Earth day, it was uncertain whether Megatron hadn’t scared his Second away altogether. Starscream was not among the High Officers on shift, and it wasn’t until the next roster switched over did he spy the Seeker on a chance camera feed, roaming the corridors with his attention fixated on a datapad. There was a limp to his stride, and Megatron would be lying if he claimed that didn’t please his ego.

Regardless, his conduct seemed normal, evidenced by his interactions with a couple of eradicons that passed him. The sight was strangely reassuring; Megatron had not been sure what to expect. Starscream was a cunning, resilient and stubborn mech who always managed to brush off any physical reprimand Megatron dealt to him. Last recharge’s treatment was, suffice to say, a major deviant in their interactions – it was therefore difficult to calculate the ensuing behavior from one as unpredictable as Starscream. There were too many layers to his chaotic processor to assume he could just brush off their encounter in the same way, too many volatile emotions compressed in that slim frame. Ironic though it was, Starscream possessed the unfortunate – or disadvantaged – habit of wearing his spark on his wings, of which he couldn’t have asked for bigger canvases. His turbulent emotions often flashed across _some_ means of display, be it his face plates, body language or wings, frequently giving Megatron insight into his most current moods. But despite this, he didn’t know how Starscream would react to their _newest_ synergy.

The night shift, as he had heard it dubbed, consisted of mostly eradicons. Soundwave would retire to his berth when he had reached a suitably acceptable quota, leaving the bridge to the appointed drone while the officers either recharged or took their leave. The time had long since passed when Megatron should have withdrawn from the bridge. Soundwave had already left, relinquishing his post to a vehicon, who was almost lost to the dark shadows of the Nemesis’ power conservation mode. When Starscream walked through the door, datapad still held at reading height, it took him a few ticks to register the weight of optics on him. He froze.

The scratches on Starscream’s waist appeared gone in the dim lighting, no doubt buffed out by the medic. That would have been a conversation Megatron might have enjoyed eavesdropping on. Knockout was a narcissistic, sly mech who applied his questionable berth-side manner alongside a few jabs at his patient. It was no secret he was more tolerable of Starscream’s unsociable traits than every other mech on the warship, some had even been so bold as to call them friends (a dubious term in Decepticon ranks, _especially_ when Starscream was involved). But nevertheless, Knockout was undoubtedly the closest amongst the crew to the Second in Command. He would have recognized the marks of an interface all over Starscream, and assuredly would have subjected the Seeker to his teasing. Megatron would have drawn delight from _that_ medbay trip.

The lighting was insufficient to see further, but that mattered not. Starscream’s optics provided the only light he wanted to see. They looked at him with a mixture of elements; uncertainty? Fear: that was always there, no matter how slight. Mistrust? Yes… of course Starscream would be wary of Megatron’s intentions after what he’d done to him. But there was no mistaking the self-doubt that flashed all too quickly across his visage. As much as he no doubt wanted to place blame and proclaim himself a victim, he had taken no efforts to outright refuse Megatron’s advances, and he knew it.

Starscream’s optics darted to the scratches of Megatron’s own, on the arm he had drawn energon. The marks were still there. Megatron would tend to them himself when he chose to.

“Lord Megatron,” Starscream’s voice croaked. The edge of static still distorted his syllables. The replay of that voice screaming itself into deactivation echoed within the warlord’s processor. But, strange that he had not let Knockout see to it.

The urge to smirk fought against his want for stoicism, but the latter won. Megatron set a reserved gaze down on his Second and took satisfaction in the look watching back. Starscream had not been expecting to bump into him, and it was written clear across his face plate. In the silence that followed Megatron almost brought up the issue of Starscream’s shift switching to avoid him, but decided against it. He had worn Starscream out the previous cycle, and even if the Seeker had missed an entire shift it was acceptable in favor of his recovery.

Starscream dropped his gaze quickly, as though memory flashes had just caught up with him. His wings descended a few inches and flicked inwards, angled. Embarrassment? Perhaps he sought just as much enjoyment from the replays as Megatron did.

“Carry on, Starscream,” Megatron finally spoke, earning a twitch from his subordinate as he began to approach, heading towards the door behind. However, as he passed, his optics caught sight of the servo still holding the now forgotten datapad. Starscream’s wrist plating was still crushed. Why hadn’t he allowed Knockout to repair that? Megatron’s gaze roved lower. The scratches on his waist were not gone: They had been buffed poorly and hastily, just enough to obscure their shadows. That was definitely not the medic’s work. “You have not been to medbay,” Megatron stated, although he wasn’t sure if it should have been a question. The realization surprised him. Surely Starscream wouldn’t have wanted to be seen baring such marks.

“I will take care of them,” Starscream answered shortly with his malfunctioning vocalizer, his brow ridges pinching together peevishly as he looked away.

Recalling the limp Starscream had walked in with, Megatron frowned. He had assumed Knockout had done what he could and sent the Seeker on his way. Knowing he hadn’t done anything bothered Megatron. “You will go to medbay now and have Knockout repair you.”

Starscream flashed him a glare, his optics streaming trails at the sudden turn of his helm. “I don’t _need_ Knockout. I can take care of it myself.”

That was a lie and they both knew it. Starscream didn’t have the tools. And his limp was mildly concerning; Megatron had torn Starscream’s valve, a little or a lot he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what harm he had caused, and unlike the countless times he thrashed the traitorous fragger, he didn’t want that damage to linger.

“You _will_ report to medbay,” Megatron growled.

Starscream turned to face him fully, grinding his denta as his wings hitched angrily. Clearly, he did not want to visit the medical bay. “Knockout is in recharge,” he gritted out. “Unless you want me to divulge certain information to drag him from his quarters, it can wait until morning.” Before Megatron could respond, the Seeker added, “I’m sure our dear doctor would be interested to know why our _Lord and Master_ felt it necessary to order me to medbay.”

Megatron glowered at him. His own biting remark was on the verge of his vocalizer, but he held it. Instead, he reached out and took Starscream’s chin in a firm servo, turning it to look up at him as he loomed close. “You should watch your tone when addressing your Master,” he said lowly, dangerously. Their proximity sent a wave of heat through his circuits, and the vivid imagery of Starscream’s moaning face all but flooded his processor. Megatron’s thumb drifted across the Seeker’s bottom lip plate. A shiver traversed the small frame, and though he did not look away a stray pulse from his EM field betrayed his controlled exterior. He was not as cool as he attempted to pull off, a tasty tidbit for Megatron’s megalomania. The incorporeal touch of nervousness and arousal mixing together was unlike anything he could compare, even to the addicting effects of high grade. It was _better_. 

Starscream appeared momentarily frozen, though for which reason was uncertain. It seemed he didn’t know whether to be infuriated that Megatron had lured him to his quarters for his despicable deeds, enraged by his own weakness to submit to them, or deeply ashamed that he had enjoyed it. It could very well have been an unhealthy fusion of all. Megatron could practically feel his inner turmoil.

He released Starscream’s chin and straightened up, catching the quick flash of relief across the flyer’s optics. “I expect you to see Knockout first thing tomorrow.”

This earned him a frustrated frown. For all his cleverness, Starscream couldn’t work out why Megatron wanted him repaired for something so trivial. For something so private. He would reason it was a humiliation tactic, and Megatron was content to let him. Starscream created his own miseries within that twisted processor of his, let him assume more suffering. He would eventually come to the right conclusion when he was well enough for round two…

In the darkness of the bridge, completely forgotten by the two high ranking officers, the lone drone cocked his head, intrigued.


End file.
